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Book Burning

I was going to throw away unsold collections
of poetry when there was a knock on my door,
it was the Mongolian ambassador, he wanted
my books, said they were splendidly brilliant,
and looked forward seeing more of my work

No, I’ll start over again. I was going to throw
away my unsold collections of poetry, when
a thought knocked, why not put them in the shed
set them alight when there is snow in the air, and

see glowing cinders shine amongst stars. .
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